


Look on the bright side

by Rimetin



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Human Jack Frost, Kidnapping, Starvation, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-19
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-02-18 01:20:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2329994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rimetin/pseuds/Rimetin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“What did you do to me?” He demands, voice raspy and quiet. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Pitch smiles, a nasty grin full of teeth and malignant glee. “You still haven’t figured it out, Jack? I thought you’d be smarter than this.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Jack keeps glaring, not enough energy left in him to shoot back. Pitch’s smile widens. “How do you like the mortal life, Jack? Is it as you remember?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>His glaring turns into outright gaping. “You--”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Yes,” Pitch admits, the glee apparent in his voice.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>Jack wakes up in a cage, naked an hurting and alone, to find he has been turned into a human by no one other than Pitch Black. Pitch proceeds to demonstrate just how he earned the fear and awe of the people back in the Dark Ages. When the other guardians finally get to them, they find a mangled human boy in need of their help if he is to have any chance at recovering.</p><p>[Added warning for graphic violence just in case.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Look on the bright side

**Author's Note:**

> Old-ish fill for a kinkmeme prompt: "Pitch finds out a way to turn Jack human and does awful things to him: torture, starvation, nightmares, even makes him suffer from his own element now that he's mortal and can feel it. --The Guardians come to save the day, but when they rescue Jack, Pitch runs. Without him, they can't change Jack back --Cue nursing human!Jack slowly back to health." Now revised and non-anon!
> 
> Kinda got carries away with the 'awful things' part and less focus on the 'nursing' part. Oops. Also I'm not sure how accurate the damage is because how do I biology, but I tried my best. I'm only a writer, not a doctor or a torture expert.

Jack wakes up to the cold.

Not the familiar sort of nice, comforting cold he always carries with him, but the nasty freezing kind that bites through fabric and skin alike and burns you to your very core. The kind of cold he hasn’t felt since he was mortal skipping through the wintry forests shoeless (because they could only afford one pair and those went to his sister, she needed them more than he did).

Jack’s eyes snap open and he sits up so fast it makes him dizzy – also something he hasn’t felt in a long, very long time. In fact, he’s feeling rather nauseous. Not the nobody-believes-in-me-I-am-so-alone or even the my-staff-is-broken-and-my-powers -gone sort of hurt, but actual, physical sickness that forces him to curl around himself and retch and gag and cough. Nothing comes out – obviously, because he hasn’t eaten for Manny knows how long, and in fact he’s starting to feel _hungry_ now, which is funny, spirits don’t actually _get_ hungry—

“Awake at last, are we?”

It takes Jack a moment to place that voice. It’s familiar, like a nagging at the back of his mind – a memory buried there, clouded by the burning pain in his insides. Then he remembers and struggles to sit up again, fighting the wave of nausea that washes over him.

“Pitch”, he croaks, and his voice cracks nastily, drips uncontrollably like melting ice. 

The Boogeyman steps from the shadows, a smile on his lips. A smile directed at Jack. It’s almost gentle, but behind that he can see there is raw malice: cold as the arctic, yet burning like a forest fire. 

Pitch peers at him through the bars of the cage Jack’s in: one of the same cages that held all the little Tooths not too long ago. Jack bites back a snort – because shutting another friend of the wind in a cage, that’s really original – and retches again instead, shivering from the cold. He’s completely naked, he realizes now, and the dark metal of the cage feels icy against his bare skin, making his whole body go numb.

“Did you sleep well?” Pitch circles the cage, eyes glinting dangerously. Jack struggles to keep his gaze on the man, readying to protect himself – or bust out if possible: he probably can’t do much even if the opportunity arises, but he’ll be damned if he’ll go down without a fight. 

Pitch notices, and merely chuckles at him. “Please, Jack. You can barely sit up straight; how could you _possibly_ hope to get out of that cage _and_ through this place on your own?”

In his mind, Jack can’t help but agree. Still, he struggles to get on his knees and wraps his numb fingers around the bars, gripping so hard his knuckles turn white (well, _whiter_ ) – as if that could give him the stability to not double over and throw up all the absolute nothing in his stomach.

“What have y--” he starts, but it’s too much. He curls back up again with a grimace, in too much pain to even notice the satisfied smile Pitch gives him. 

“What have I done?” A long-fingered hand reaches through the bars to caress at his hair and Jack snarls, inching away. Pitch keeps smiling, but obligingly draws his hand away. “Call it an early Christmas present. Don’t worry, the illness will pass.”

Jack opens his mouth to get back at him, but words won’t come out. Just gags and coughs that shake his whole body, the pain almost too much to bear. Almost, but not quite.

He can _feel_ the Nightmare King smirk at him.

“Now, why don’t you sleep for a little while?”

Jack can’t fight it: there’s something about the words, the way they roll of that lying tongue force his eyes shut. Blackness envelopes him, and he hears the distant neighing and hooves of the nightmares closing in.

 _Nightmare sand_ , he understands, right before the world goes black.

*

Waking up is even worse than the nightmares.

It’s cold again, almost freezing. Jack is completely numb, movements dragging and disorganized: he can barely feel, and orders from his brain seem to take forever to reach his limbs. He’s also hungrier and thirstier than he ever remembers being before, even when he was human, and back then there were some quite harsh times – times when he’d go without just so his sister could eat.

His sister. The thought brings him comfort, even though the familiar pang of sadness is there. She’s long gone, but at least now Jack can remember her. Ironically, it’s all thanks to his current captor.

As if on cue, Pitch emerges from the shadows, holding a plate full of the most delicious things: meats and fruit and the juiciest pastries. The smell wafts through the stale air of the lair right into Jack’s nostrils and his mouth waters, stomach lurching at the thought of getting filled again. He drags his unwilling body to the bars again, gripping at them and pulling himself up.

Pitch smiles, keeping the food just far enough to be out of Jack’s reach, but near enough to be extremely tempting. “Feeling better?”

Jack starts a snide response before realizing he actually is. Aside from the cold and the hunger and the lingering terrors of his sleep, he feels fine. The burning is gone, but speaking still hurts: his throat stings, like he’s used up all his voice in the hacking and retching. Or maybe screaming.

Pitch seems to take his silence as an answer enough, and offers him the plate. “Are you hungry?”

Jack’s eyes dart from the plate to Pitch suspiciously, searching for any trickery, any lies. There has to be a catch – maybe the food is poison, maybe it’s something he really doesn’t want to eat, maybe Pitch is just toying with him and will snatch it away if he tries to reach for it?

Then his stomach grumbles loudly and the sweet, appetizing smell seems to get stronger with every breath, and Pitch’s smile widens, his teeth glinting. Jack swallows hard and makes an attempt to snatch the plate for himself, but it’s no use: he’s too slow, his hand won’t obey him properly and hits the bars. The impact sends a tremor up his arm to his whole body but thankfully the pain is dulled: there is just the hunger, and humiliation.

Pitch laughs at him and the sound of it echoes through the chamber, jumping from wall to wall and shadow to shadow, as if the endless darkness itself is laughing. Jack scowls and tries again, this time reaching through the bars carefully, ready to pull away if anything grabs at him.

Nothing does. The growling in his stomach gets louder and louder the closer he gets to the deliciousness laid out in front of him and even the doubts of trickery fade away to give room for the hope and relief that the wrenching in his gut can finally stop, the hunger be satisfied. 

But just as his fingertips touch the plate Pitch lets go and it falls, disappearing into shadow and clattering to the ground below. Jack bites back a sob, quickly pulling his hand away and retreating back into the cage. The glare he gives Pitch is full of scorn. 

“Very clever,” he wheezes, then succumbs to a coughing fit.

This time, Pitch doesn’t even bother with a vocal comeback: just a triumphant grin before slinking back into the shadows, leaving Jack to curl up in the bottom of the cold, hard cage with only his empty stomach to keep him company.

*

Jack quickly loses track of time. There is no sun or stars to be seen: no clocks in the lair. Even the shadows don’t move, stagnant as they are sinister. It’s impossible to tell how much time passes when he’s awake, and even more so when he sleeps. The only indication that time does pass is the growing hunger and thirst – and the tiny cup of water that he finds has been refilled every time he fights his way through the nightmares and manages to snap awake.

It only begins to make sense when Pitch finally returns.

Jack’s weak, and growing weaker every moment, but he still gives Pitch his best defiant glare and again drags himself to the bars, grasping them to stay upright.

“What did you do to me?” He demands, voice raspy and quiet. His throat feels like sandpaper and his tongue is large and clumsy in his mouth, making it hard to get clear words out. And he’s still so damn thirsty. 

Pitch regards him coolly, and for a moment Jack thinks he won’t answer. Then he smiles, a nasty grin full of teeth and malignant glee. “You still haven’t figured it out, Jack? I thought you’d be smarter than this.”

Jack keeps glaring, not enough energy left in him to shoot back. Pitch’s smile widens, more sharp teeth like razors showing between the thin lips. “How do you like the mortal life, Jack? Is it as you remember?”

 _Mortal life?_ Then it hits him. His glaring turns into outright gaping, anger into shock and horror. “You--”

“Yes,” Pitch admits, the glee apparent in his voice. 

Jack starts shaking and clings to the bars like they’re a lifeline. “But--”

“Oh, it’s not to kill you,” Pitch interjects, suddenly bored. And Jack understands: that’s not Pitch’s idea of fun. He wouldn’t waste time and resources in trapping a human – even a humanized guardian – and simply starving them to death.

“I’m not afraid of you,” he rasps.

Pitch studies him, eyes slowly gliding over every part of him. Every inch of the sickly pale skin, every bone sticking out, every imperfection on him caused by the captivity – the dark circles, bruises, the bluish lips and fingernails. “No,” he whispers, leaning close to ghost a hand over one of Jack’s gripping the bars. “But you should be.”

*

Pitch, it turns out, knows a thing or two about how to prolong pain. Just what you’d expect of the King of the Dark Ages, Jack supposes. 

Every time he wakes up from the horrible terrors that are his dreams now, Jack is given just enough food and water to survive til the next night: just enough to bring a moment of relief, one tiny moment, just the amount to sustain him. No more than what this frail body absolutely needs to function. And it never feels _quite_ enough, and once it’s gone, he feels even hungrier, even more miserable.

And he finds that the locking up and the starvation are just a start.

Shadows and cages aren’t the only things Pitch’s lair harbors. In the darkness dwell all the greatest fears of both children and adults, from spiders to clowns to claustrophobia. 

And torture devices.

Pitch gleefully tells him about all of them: the rack; tean zu; the heretic’s fork. Jack knows he does it to incite fear, and forcefully suppresses anything of the sort. He has been hurt before. He knows pain. He can get through it.

That’s what he thinks, anyway, until Pitch starts applying them to him. And he has a story to go with each: of people who died in them, back when he was in power, at his strongest. How they feared as their limbs were crushed and bones cracking. How they screamed and begged and finally died, not mercifully blacking out, but in terrible agony until their very last breath. All the hundreds of poor men and women, most of them innocent, broken and cracked over periods of hours, days, even months. And when Jack looks at the devices, he can well imagine it all; can almost hear the cries and pleas for mercy. 

He loses count of how many devices they go through, how many of his bones and tendons and what other parts break: loses count of the screams and sobs and his voice in the process. The count of the tears that he just can’t stop from flowing until he’s completely dry and probably dying from dehydration. And he wonders how much more he can take, how much more this _body_ can take: he feels so frail, barely able to speak, not enough strength to struggle or even properly react anymore as the nightmares drag him into the darkness and back to the hours of pain and torture.

 _Mortal bodies_ , he decides one day after they return him to the cage, after they’ve carelessly tossed him into it and furiously slammed the door shut so hard the whole cage sways, _mortal bodies suck_.

But he never begs, never breaks, and Pitch never grants him a rest. When he’s awake, it’s the agony of constant hunger and thirst and cold and pain: when he’s asleep, it’s nightmares stampeding in his head and digging into the most intimate parts of his mind, sniffing out the most well-hidden and guarded secrets, locked away so even Jack can’t find them anymore. But they do, and they let them all out, unleash the most terrible things and turn his own mind against him – into a field of monsters and distorted memories, whispers at the back of his head tearing him apart bit by bit.

*

When Jack hears the commotion, he initially assumes it’s just the nightmares throwing a fit. Or maybe Pitch is giving another speech he can’t be bothered to listen to anymore because they’re always the same things over and over again anyway; gloating and meaningless phrases trying to stir fear, the sound just horribly distorted by the cavern and Jack’s stressed ears.

Or maybe he’s passed out in the middle of torture again and it’s just his own voice echoing in the halls.

Then he catches a glimpse of bright red in the shadows, vibrant and lively. He blinks and turns to see it, but it’s already gone – in its place yellow and orange, bright like the sun and twinkling like the stars. Then bright green, and purple, and was that a flash of silver? They’re fast, and bright, darting around the chamber and Jack has to squeeze his eyes shut because it hurts, the influx of color after so much time (how much?) in the monochrome world of the Boogeyman’s lair.

He knows they’re fighting, and that they’re fighting for _him_ , but he can’t even get up to cheer for them, much less help. Even if he could get out of the cage, he couldn’t even stand up anymore. Not in this body.

Maybe not ever again.

After a while, the noises die down. There are the last few barks he vaguely recognizes as Bunnymund, but can’t make out the words. Then there is chirping right in his ear and he opens his eyes to find something green and blue right there, a tiny little child-bird with worried purple eyes.

“Baby Tooth”, he breathes, managing a smile – his first in months.

“Jack! Jack, are you alright?” The blob of green and purple and yellow – Toothiana – is outside the cage, fiddling with it, trying to get to the boy inside. Beside her floats the blinding swirls of yellow – Sandman, and the tendrils of the dreamsand Jack has been longing for in these dark hours, when nightmares were around him, waiting to strike.

Jack smiles at them as the door swings open, distracted from the pain for a moment, enjoying the display of color. “Guys…”

“Oh. _Oh._ ” Toothiana flits closer, reaching out to gently caress at Jack’s dirty, now much thinner and longer hair, his hollow cheeks and chapped lips. “Oh dear.”

“What? What is it?” Asks the silver flash – now recognizable as Bunnymund, boomerangs still at hand and ready to fight – who is not quite tall enough to see in the cage himself, but Jack knows it’s him. It’s the ears, and the accent: how could he ever forget the accent?

“Chesnokov!” The vibrant red and blinding white giant – that’s North, and Jack could swear that his beard has gotten longer – exclaims under his breath, peering into the cage. 

“What?” Bunny snarls, hopping up and down trying to see what the others are so worried about. When he finally does, even he slips a gasp of horror.

“He’s been…” Tooth starts, fidgeting nervously, looking absolutely devastated. 

“Pitch’ll pay for this,” Bunnymund snarls as North reaches into the cage to gently lift Jack into his arms – he weighs almost nothing now, bones sticking in every direction, looking more like a skeleton than a boy – and lays him on the golden stretcher Sandy conjures up.

“All in good time, Bunny,” North hushes and Sandy smiles down at Jack, warm and reassuring.

Jack smiles back and drifts to sleep, welcoming the sweet dreams the magical sand brings him.

*  
*

They all agree that North’s workshop will be the best for Jack right now. It’s well fortified with lots of staff, so someone can keep an eye on the boy at all times, and it will be easily defendable if Pitch and his nightmares try to get in. 

That, and it turns out that for all their flaws, both yetis and elves make for excellent nursing staff.

The guardians stand back as the yetis operate, watching from the sidelines as the large creatures systematically look their patient over and fix what they can. It’s rather like watching them make presents in the workshop, assembling toys and trinkets: except this is more serious – and Jack needs a lot more than a few screws and glue to stitch him back together.

Tooth keeps nervously zigzagging around the room, blabbering frantically to herself and throwing worried glances at the sleeping boy where she can catch a glimpse of him from behind all the yetis. “How did Pitch even manage this? That shouldn’t be possible!”

Bunnymund is surprisingly calm, sitting by the fire and painting one of his signature tiny eggs, all concentration directed at the weave of colors and patterns. Only the slight jitter of the egg and the twitching of his nose betray his concern. “Ain’t nothing we can do about it now. First, the boy’s gotta get through this.”

“Oh!” Tooth flutters to a halt, looking even more distressed now. Bunny immediately regrets his words.

“I’m not sayin’ he won’t – he’s strong, you know he is. He can take anything: more than any of us, probably.”

“But in that body?” Tooth starts her skittering again, wringing her hands. “Bunny, Pitch turned him into a _human!_ A spirit could barely survive treatment like that, let alone a human!”

“We’ll figure it out”, North states firmly, and Sandy floats over to place a soothing hand on her shoulder. Tooth still looks less than reassured, but settles down until the yetis clear out and proclaim that they have done all they can – the rest is up to Jack.

The guardians trade nervous glances before making their way to the bed and peering down at the small figure tucked tight in between the numerous pillows and blankets. His cheeks are hollow, eyes sunken deep into his skull, skin pale and blotchy with scrapes and bruises all over, all hidden under ragged, overgrown and dirty hair. And that’s just his face: they dread to remember what the rest of him looked like, sprawled on the bottom of that cage, no more than a pile of bones, skin almost glowing against the dark metal. The way his limbs had been bent all in the wrong directions, the dark, dried blood caked on festering and half-healed wounds. The blue and black and green spots peppering his skin, ugly and raw and full of pain.

They shudder at the memory and quickly focus on the boy before them now, barely holding onto life. Desperately in need of their help.

“…So,” Bunnymund’s voice pierces the silence. “Any ideas?”

*

At first, they fear the damage is too much, that Jack won’t wake up at all. It’s eerie how quietly he sleeps, barely breathing: even Bunnymund has to lean in very close just to hear the silent wheezing, and even closer to catch the thumping of his heart. But both get louder and steadier every day, fueled by the constant sweet dreams Sandy sends the boy, and the diligent care of North’s workforce. 

None of the guardians leave North’s workshop for the first few days, too worried for the boy to leave his side for even a minute. Even Tooth and Sandy operate from the North Pole, despite the difficulty – Jack is just too important.

When he finally does wake up, he announces it with a low wail.

“Jack?” Tooth is immediately there, looking him over frantically. “Jack, are you okay? Jack!”

Jack blinks up at her, breathing coming in jagged rasps as he tries to adjust – to being awake, and alive, but also to the strange pressure on his chest and the broken ribs he doesn’t even know are there.

“Oi, Frostie!” Bunnymund is there too, leaning closer anxiously. “Jack! Talk to us, mate.”

And Jack, to their surprise, breaks out in a wheezing giggle fit – one that quickly turns into violent coughs and gasps that shake his whole body. The guardians exchange alarmed looks, not sure what to make of that – what should they do? Is he going to kill himself laughing?

Sandy twirls a finger by his temple, looking curiously at the hacking boy. _Has he gone mad?_

“Hey, kangaroo,” Jack finally manages, and suddenly the tension is lifted, the air clearing.

“Who’re you calling a kangaroo, you little brat?” Bunny growls, not quite able to hide the relief in his voice. “We thought you’d died, or worse!”

Tooth flutters down to sit by the bed, reaching out to brush the overgrown white strands from Jack’s face. Tears of relief glisten in her eyes. “Oh, _Jack_ , we were so worried!”

Jack manages a smile at her – a smile full of teeth, for her benefit. Still sparkling like freshly fallen snow, despite all the horrors he’s been through. Tooth slips a sobbing laugh, wiping at her eyes. It’s Jack alright, the Jack they know – maybe not physically, but his mind seems the same.

“Jack!” North rushes closer and reaches down to gently caress at his hair, smiling down at him. “Are we ever glad that you’re alright, my dear boy!”

Beside him floats the Sandman, waving to Jack in greeting. Jack lets out another breathy chuckle, enjoying the small touches and warm gestures – all the things he was missing in that dark lair, all alone and broken for he’s-not-even-sure-he-wants-to-know how long.

“Thanks,” he wheezes, not managing another word before a new coughing fit takes over him.

“Anytime, mate,” Bunnymund reassures him, and the others nod in agreement.

Jack smiles at them and drifts off again, Sandy sending him the sweetest dreams yet – dreams of family, and friends, of times of happiness and fun.

*  
*

Jack won’t share the details with them, and in a way, they are grateful for that. The injuries speak for themselves: numerous fractures, both major and minor; dislocations; scrapes and even some open wounds, though thankfully small ones and most of them already healing; bruises large and deep and still all black and blue; and on top of that, the yetis confirm internal bleeding, severe dehydration and malnourishment. And they can’t even begin to imagine what Pitch has tried to do to Jack’s mind. The brief glimpses Sandy gets from the boy’s dreams are enough and send shivers down his spine, waves of disgust and pity. He mercifully covers those bits with sweeter images to help Jack, and locks the information away from the other guardians – Jack wouldn’t want them to know, and honestly, they don’t really need to.

All that, plus they have no idea how to turn the boy back into a spirit.

It’s going to be a long road to recovery, indeed. But they’re all willing to see him through it.

They take turns in nursing Jack, the yetis managing him when they’re all too busy with their duties. Phil whips up all his best recipes for stews and broths and has the entire kitchen staff help him: he won’t accept anything less than absolute deliciousness, and personally feeds it to the boy with steady toymaker’s hands, just a little bit at a time and at just the right pace – because Jack, with his hands wrapped in layers and layers of bandages, each finger in an individual cast and nearly all of his nails missing can’t hold even a straw, nor do his arms have the strength to lift much. And North carves the boy toys from ice, makes small displays of frost and snow he can watch from the safety and warmth of his own bed. Though nowhere near the skill and precision of Jack’s own exhibitions, he gladly accepts them, delighting in the familiar element and most of all, the good intentions of the brusque bearded man.

Sandman does what he does best: digs up the nicest, sweetest dreams in his arsenal for Jack to enjoy when he drifts into sleep. He hand-picks only the best grains of sand, builds from them sweet images and stories tailored just to Jack’s liking, because he’s been watching forever and he knows just what sort of dream puts Jack’s mind to rest, what small touches make him happy. And when the boy is awake he conjures up beautiful displays of gold and sparkles, has dream dinosaurs march in his room and sends dolphins darting around his head. And Jack takes pleasure in that, laughs openly and makes requests, shapes some dreams himself as well. Takes the time to savor these things he hasn’t had for such a long time, remembers all the fun and games to be had with such visions.

Once the yetis deem Jack can eat more than just small amounts of fluids, Bunnymund is the first to react. He opens a tunnel right into the boy’s room and marches dozens of hand-painted eggs in, much to the chagrin of the yetis, but it has both Jack and the elves squealing in excitement and so there is no doubt in Bunny's mind as to whether it was the right thing to do. He’s taken the utmost care with these particular eggs; endless hours spent down in his Warren, perfecting new mixtures of delicious chocolate just for Jack, with hand-picked berries and cookie crust and soothing peppermint thrown in; then painting each egg with meticulous care in all the colors of the rainbow, taking care to have just the right balance of vibrancy and harmony. And Jack enjoys them, especially the splash of color, like he can never get enough of it: the monochrome, dark and sinister hues of Pitch’s lair still haunt him, even after all this time.

And just at that moment Toothiana busts in with an army of Baby Teeth, each carrying products like toothpaste, dental floss, and chewing gum. She sees the platoon of eggs Bunnymund has brought in, and proceeds to reprimand him – “we should be taking care of him, not ruining his teeth!” – while he takes the defensive – “I am bloody _taking care_ of him, the kid’s starved!” – all the while the Baby Teeth circle Jack, offering the boy their gifts as if that would make them more likely to catch a glimpse of his marvelous teeth-that-sparkle-like-freshly-fallen-snow.

They’re all interrupted and caught off guard by Jack suddenly bursting into laughter, clear and lively like the snow days he so loves.

“I should clearly get kidnapped more often,” he sniggers, a bandage-covered hand going to wipe at his eyes. The Baby Teeth flit closer, marveling at the pure whiteness staring back at them from the smiling mouth – except one, who darts between them and the boy, trying to keep them back and chirping violently, the jealous little thing.

“Jack!” Tooth chides, though she’s smiling. “That’s not funny.”

Jack grins back at her. “Even if it isn’t, I wouldn’t mind getting spoiled like this more often.”

“In your dreams, mate!” Bunny grumbles, but the corners of his mouth curl upwards. 

Jack laughs again, and this time Tooth and Bunny join in, happy to know they’re doing something right with the boy for once. It’s still not enough to make up for the 300 years of neglect and misunderstandings, maybe not even for the terrors Pitch put him through, but it’s a start.


End file.
